


With You Between My Arms

by invisibledaemon



Series: 12 Days of Starmora [5]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Pre-Vol 2, based on the line in the vol 2 script that they'd danced before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledaemon/pseuds/invisibledaemon
Summary: Every time Peter has asked her to dance before, she’s never hesitated to say ‘no.’ She meant what she said back on Knowhere; she does not dance.But for some reason she refuses to analyze, this time she says yes.





	With You Between My Arms

**Author's Note:**

> 12 days of starmora day 6 - dancing! Based on the info we got from the vol 2 script that the two of them had danced before. I'm sure I won't be the only person who writes a fic based on this, and I look forward to reading other people's!!
> 
> Title is from Ed Sheeran's "Perfect"

It takes Peter approximately two and a half minutes to find her. She’s surprised he came after her at all, though perhaps she shouldn’t be; he’s shown himself to be remarkably caring over the past month or so that they’ve known each other, concerned for her well-being in a way she’d never experienced before. **  
**

“Gamora!” he says when he bursts through the door that leads to this side alley. The music from inside the bar becomes almost thunderingly loud for a moment, until the door closes behind him and it’s muffled once again.

He practically sags with relief when he sees her, and only her years of training keep her from doing the same. She hadn’t _expected_  him to come, but it seems she’d been hoping for it without realizing.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hurrying over to stand in front of her.

“I’m fine,” she says stiffly.

“That guy was a total jerk,” he continues, sounding angry, as though the man had personally offended  _him_.

Gamora tilts her head in acknowledgement; the man was quite rude. However… “He was not wrong.”

“He was too,” Peter says vehemently.

She raises an eyebrow. “He knew exactly who I am. How was he wrong?”

He scrunches his face up stubbornly and she suppresses the urge to grin; it’s kind of a cute expression on him. “He doesn’t know who you are at all. He knows some shit you were made to do in the past but that’s not who you are and you have just as much right to be in that bar as anyone else.”

She’s already shaking her head before he finishes his self-righteous -- or other-person-righteous, she supposes, since it’s on  _her_  behalf -- speech. “It doesn’t matter, Peter. I took care of it and now I don’t want to talk about it.

Her “taking care of it” is part of the reason she’s out here; she’s not exactly  _welcome_  inside the bar anymore after she nearly broke a man’s arm inside it. Not that she’d have wanted to stay inside anyway, after a scene like that.

“Alright,” Peter says, though he sounds reluctant to let it go. 

“I am fine,” she assures him. “I’ll wait out here. You should go back in with the others and enjoy the rest of the night.”

“About that…” He makes a face. “I may have gotten kicked out, too.”

She’s about to ask why, but it’s then that she finally notices he’s holding his right hand a bit gingerly. The lighting out here is dim, but she can see that his knuckles are red.

“Peter--” she sighs.

“The guy was a jerk!” he repeats.

“I’d already taken care of it and left,” she says, exasperated but not angry. Though perhaps she would not be as hot-tempered as Peter about it, she has to admit that were their positions reversed she’d have been very tempted to injure someone who spoke to him like that man had to her.

He shrugs. “Doesn’t make him less of a jerk.”

She shakes her head again but cannot contradict him. “I suppose we both wait then.”

“I s’pose,” he says, leaning his back against the wall next to her.

They stand in silence for less than a minute, during which time Peter fidgets with his belt buckle three times, the collar of his jacket twice, and taps his feet continuously to the dim but audible music coming from the bar. Gamora stays still, comfortable in the silence in a way she’s not with anyone else.

But Peter is not a creature built for long silences.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, tearing his back from the wall and grinning at her. “Dance with me.”

She blinks at him. “Dance with you?”

It’s far from the first time he’s ever asked, but it’s the first time he’s asked in a dingy alley behind a seedy bar, with more than one Orloni scampering about and a dumpster not twenty feet away from them.

“Yeah,” he says, apparently undeterred by their surroundings. “Dance with me. It’ll be fun.”

Every time Peter has asked her to dance before, she’s never hesitated to say ‘no.’ She meant what she said back on Knowhere; she does not dance.

But for some reason, that immediate ‘no’ that usually springs to her lips just isn’t coming. She looks at him; this kind, arrogant, thoughtful goofball of a man who she’s hardly known for a month but who’s already become more important to her than anyone else in her life; who just punched a man for accosting her when she wasn’t even in the room for no apparent reason other than his having touched her without permission, and she says:

“Yes.”

His eyes widen comically, apparently surprised despite the confidence with which he always asks her. She wonders if he’d ever even prepared for the possibility that she’d accept.

“Awesome!” He grins, getting over his surprise quickly. “Let’s do it!”

He holds his hand out to her expectantly and she looks down at it, suddenly unsure when faced with the realization that she’s never actually done this before. She’s seen people dance, of course, and she’s familiar with the basic principle, but actually  _doing_  it is something else entirely.

She takes his hand, though -- warm and calloused and large compared to hers -- and allows him to guide her further out into the alley where they have more room.

“Here,” he says softly, bringing their joined hands up so they hover near his upper arm, elbows bent. He must sense her uncertainty despite her best effort to hide it. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

She does. The leather of his jacket is cold -- not unpleasantly so, but she can’t help but wish she could feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

“And I’m gonna put mine on your hip,” he says. He waits for her to nod before he does, though, and  _here_  she can feel his warmth, is sure he can feel hers as well. 

“Now what?” she asks, forcing herself to meet his eyes. There’s no reason for the slight flush in her cheeks, she tells herself, or the sudden fluttery feeling in her chest.

“Now,” he says, smiling gently in a way that does nothing to help that feeling, “we just go like this.”

He starts moving then, doing little more than rocking his legs so they sway back and forth in a slow circle.

“This isn’t the best beat for it,” he says, gesturing back towards the bar. The music is nothing like the songs on his Walkman that he treasures so much, the pace a bit faster than they’re actually dancing, but it’s working. Peter seems to be observing more than complaining.

She finds it easier than she expected to follow his lead. The tension in her shoulders relaxes before long, though she avoids directly meeting his gaze. There’s something in the softness of this moment, in the way he’s looking at her, that’s making her crave something she feels she can’t have.

“You’re really good at this,” Peter says quietly, after they’ve been dancing a few moments in silence.

“We’re hardly moving,” she points out. “It’s not especially difficult.”

He shrugs one shoulder, the one her hand isn’t resting on. “Well, this is just the first lesson. I’ll show you the more complicated stuff some other time.”

“Perhaps,” Gamora allows, finally lifting her gaze to his. He’s still smiling at her in  _that way_ , that way that does things to her heart, and she can’t help but return it. “But this stays between us.”

“Don’t want the others to know you’re a warrior and an assassin who  _does_  dance?”

“ _Peter_.”

“Hey, relax,” he says, and she realizes belatedly that she’s stiffened up slightly. “I won’t tell, I promise. Our little secret.”

She scans his face; he seems sincere. She nods once, satisfied.

Which is when the door to the bar bursts open again. This time it’s Drax and Rocket, holding Groot in his pot, who come through.

Gamora pulls away immediately, taking several steps back before they spot them and telling herself that she does  _not_  miss the warmth of Peter’s hands on her.

“There you guys are!” Rocket says with a frustrated huff. “Why the hell are there so many exits in this damn bar?”

“It does seem excessive,” Drax says.

“What are you guys doing out here?” Peter asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Looking for you morons,” Rocket says, “so we can get out of here. This bar is clearly the pits.”

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah, full of jerks.” Rocket gestures back towards the bar with a glare. Gamora wonders if he’s referencing the same jerk she and Peter had dealt with.

“It is,” Peter agrees. “Well, alright, long as we’re all out here, let’s go find somewhere else.”

He looks questioningly at Gamora.

“Good idea,” she says, and gives him a small smile. “Perhaps this one will have better music.”

He grins, and the dark, dingy back alley seems a little bit lighter all the sudden.


End file.
